I don't really enjoy watching myself do improv on video.

The problem is quite clear to me. The show exists inside our heads. When Katy and I are in the middle of a laser battle on a derelict space station, that's what I'm seeing around me. The scorch-mark pocked bulkheads, the endless void of space through the reinforced plexiglass windows. I smell the ozone as another plasma-heated blast sizzles over my head. It's an epic spectacle.

When I watch the video back, it's two idiots titting about on a bare stage with two chairs, making pew pew noises.

But what I've learned is that that's not what the audience in the room is seeing. If you're in the room then there's a good chance that you've bought into the show on a deeper level, that the alchemy of real time connection has rendered those scenes extraordinary again. In essence, a good improv show leverages the imaginations of its audience to create the world it inhabits. So every audience member is seeing their own version of that space station. For some it might be brand new and austere, full of gleaming white surfaces and touch screens. For others it'll be industrial - rusted steel girders and exposed wiring. Or perhaps someone at the back of the auditorium is seeing a 1950s scifi movie set - all curved chrome, plush leather and technicolour flashing lights. In that sense it's like listening to a radio play or reading a book.

And the brilliant thing about that is that an audience doing that work has bought into the show. More than that, they're co-created the show alongside you; consciously or unconsciously they now feel a sense of ownership over it. The spaces we leave in our performances allows the creativity of the brilliant artists, geniuses and poet's in our audience to flow into the gaps. In a good improv show, the whole room is engaged, creating together - humming along to a shared tune.

For me, that just doesn't translate with the distance that a recording provides. The non-liveness is part of it certainly but it's also got something to do with my expectations of special effects when I watch something on screen. I'm not used to such a spartan presentation. Deep down I want something on a par with the Marvel Cinematic Universe or the good seasons of Game of Thrones. I think theatre can suffer from the same problem - make a set too realistic and the audience loses the pleasure of filling in the details. Now there's other pleasures to be had, for sure, marvelling at the technical brilliance of a set's creation and implementation - but that engages a different part of the brain.

And so too, for improv. Because videos are an amazing tool for show diagnostics. It might not be a pleasant experience but watching an improv show back to get better is an incredibly effective use of your time. All your strategies and improv tells are laid bare - the schtick you over-relied on, the moves you made that derailed the scene, the times when it's painfully obvious you weren't listening to your scene partner at all. For me, that's the point of recording a show, to use it to make you a better improviser. I can watch myself with the analytic part of my brain turned on quite easily, because I'm engaged in a different task - that of tweaking my performance engine so it runs better.

I know I'm not seeing the show that the audience saw. Because I can't see that show. Ever. It's a beautiful fractal pattern composed of the 30-40* different shows tucked safely away in the minds of each audience member.

All we can do is look at the moves we made to inspire that show. And try to be better.

*depending on venue capacity